


Lights Flash (Red and Blue)

by DeancebraArt, inhystereks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Beta Derek Hale, Full Shift Derek Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, No Beta, Sterek Reverse Quickie 2020, Wolf Derek Hale, cameo Jackson Whittemore, cameo Lydia Martin, cameo Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeancebraArt/pseuds/DeancebraArt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/inhystereks/pseuds/inhystereks
Summary: John glanced over his shoulder to make sure the other cruisers had gone ahead of him. He turned again when Stiles started laughing. It was nothing like his usual laugh and made the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up.Red and blue flashed across Stiles’s face. John regretted leaving them on, because somehow, they only highlighted how miserable his son looked. He got the distinct impression that maybe he should just let Stiles tell him what the problem was.
Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale
Comments: 28
Kudos: 440
Collections: Sterek Reverse Quickie 2020





	Lights Flash (Red and Blue)

**Author's Note:**

> For the Sterek Reverse Quickie 2020, based off of Deanceba's amazing art!

John Stilinski made his way downstairs, earlier than he wanted to. Sleep was precious and he liked to revel in it when he could. He’d managed most of the morning though, so he would be content with that.

When he entered the kitchen he spotted Stiles sitting at the table.

“Hey, kid. You made breakfast already?” John asked, shuffling past on his way to the coffee maker. It was full. He glanced at Stiles, but there was no cup in front of him , or the sink when the Sheriff checked there. Stiles hadn’t had any coffee that morning?

“Actually, Dad,” Stiles said, “I was kind of hoping you would make breakfast today.”

John snorted. There were few things he could make, and all of them would take more effort than he was willing to put in at the moment. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen today, kiddo,” he said as he doctored his coffee. “I can fix you some cereal, if you’d like?”

Stiles was quiet. John had taken three sips of his coffee before he realized. As he turned, though, Stiles stood.

“Nah, I think I’m craving breakfast from the diner after all. I’m staying over at Scott’s tonight,” Stiles said, and then he was gone.

John shook his head. He’d never understand how Stiles could be so fast and so clumsy at the same time.

-

_Are we hanging out today?_

**Were we supposed to?**

_Nothing set in stone. But I thought we would._

**I’m with Lydia and Jackson.**

_Isn’t Allison out of town? Ditch them._

**I can’t just ditch them! That’s so mean!**

Stiles hadn’t responded after that. Scott frowned down at the conversation. He was sure he hadn’t made plans with Stiles for today. He was also sure Stiles would hate the idea of ditching someone for someone else. Why would he have suggested it?

“McCall, your face is ugly enough,” Jackson snarked.

“Stiles is being weird,” Scott said with a sigh.

“That’s because there’s something wrong with him,” Jackson said. “Aren’t you seeing him later? You can ask him while you two are being dumbasses.”

Scott looked at him in surprise. “So we did make plans? He asked if we were hanging out today but I don’t remember us talking about it.”

Lydia looked up at him, the first time she had deigned to acknowledge his presence since he sat down. 

“You’re not seeing Stiles today?” she asked.

“I mean, he wants to, but I’m not sure what’s so special about today.”

Jackson and Lydia stared at him.

“You really don’t look back, huh, McCall.”

Scott had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Jackson’s tone didn’t make it sound good.

-

Stiles pulled up just as John was about to pull out. He sighed and got out without bothering to turn the car off. It would be a reminder to keep the conversation short, even if the flashing of the lights was annoying.

“Stiles, you need to go home,” John said once his son was in front of him. He looked at his son, who seemed very agitated.

“Dad, I need to tell you something,” Stiles said.

John sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Stiles, I’m in the middle of something right now. Whatever mess you made, unless it’s life or death, it can wait until I’m done working.”

“I didn’t make a mess!” Stiles snapped. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you this! You should have remembered!”

John squinted at him. Stiles seemed upset, but sometimes he overreacted when he felt bad for bothering John at work. John scoured his brain, but nothing obvious popped out, and there was a domestic violence situation he was supposed to be attending to. He sighed again in frustration.

“Stiles, if it was important, I would have remembered,” John said. “And if it’s that important, it’ll still be important in a few hours. Or tomorrow, since you’re spending the night at Scott’s. What’s important at this very moment is my job. You need to go home so I can work.”

John glanced over his shoulder to make sure the other cruisers had gone ahead of him. He turned again when Stiles started laughing. It was nothing like his usual laugh and made the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up. 

Red and blue flashed across Stiles’s face. John regretted leaving them on, because somehow, they only highlighted how miserable his son looked. He got the distinct impression that maybe he should just let Stiles tell him what the problem was.

It was too late, though.

“You’re right, Dad. If it was important you would have remembered. Your job is what’s most important.”

Hearing his words repeated back at him only increased John’s sudden unease. Before he could make any attempt to better the situation, Stiles turned away.

“Stay safe,” he called over his shoulder.

John thought it sounded more bitter than loving. He watched his son drive away.

That was a mistake, John knew with certainty. But he had other pressing matters that needed his attention. He got in his car and left the station. He hoped, rather than believed, that whatever it was would keep until tomorrow.

-

Stiles went home. He had to pick up supplies.

Not to go to Scott’s, obviously. Because Scott was just as bad as his dad. Stiles had known, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. It was true, though. They really both had… 

What was the point? Really. Seriously. What was the fucking point?

He went upstairs to his room and grabbed his backpack and emptied it, kicking off his shoes at the same time. He only tripped twice. Stiles yanked on his sturdiest sneakers and tossed his keys, wallet, phone, and Swiss Army knife in his backpack. Just before he left, he grabbed two of the unopened water bottles on his desk, tossing those in too. He didn’t plan to be back until tomorrow, and he’d probably want to hydrate desperately if he woke up as hungover as he expected to be. 

The bedroom door slammed behind him, but it didn’t matter how much noise Stiles made in an empty house. 

He went into his dad’s room and walked to his dresser. Stiles dropped to his knees and pulled out the bottom drawer, rummaging until he could reach the back left corner where there was a pair of leather pants his dad swore were only a gag gift that he’d never worn. He pulled a key out of the back pocket, and rearranged everything as it had been. That bedroom door slammed too.

Stiles unlocked the liquor cabinet. Several whiskey bottles had to be moved aside before he could grasp the wax-sealed teal bottle from the back of the shelf. He shoved it into his backpack with everything else. Stiles paused to wonder if he should bring food, but he decided an empty stomach meant getting blind drunk more quickly, no matter he wouldn’t thank himself tomorrow. That was a problem for future Stiles.

Stiles locked the liquor cabinet and dropped the key into his backpack. He’d have to hope his dad didn’t need it tonight. Maybe he’d remember if he had to go looking for the spare and figure out which bottle Stiles had taken.

Probably not. It wasn’t important. 

None of it was. Not that they were supposed to drink it together. Not that Stiles had been alone all day. Not that only one person had given him even a thought.

Bless Melissa McCall. She was probably the only reason Stiles didn’t have more permanent plans for the night. Though he couldn’t imagine how he’d figure out the point of it all by tomorrow. 

Stiles slipped out the back door of his house, following a familiar trail into the woods. It would only take about 15 minutes for him to get to his favorite clearing, and then he could settle into a nice, long pity party. The guest list was short: one of the two people in this world who cared about his existence. 

Halfway to the clearing, Stiles stopped and slung his backpack off his shoulder. He dug around until he found his phone and could turn on its flashlight. He had to set his backpack on the ground in order to grab his knife, which he immediately shoved into his pocket. Then, he pulled out his liquor.

It _was_ his. His babcia had sent it for him. Stiles was pretty sure that he was only supposed to drink one glass of it in like a special glass or something, but he and Scott had once daringly attempted a shot for shot battle with 90-proof tequila. Stiles didn’t think anything could be worse than that, and the mood he was in made him extra determined to down as much of the bottle as possible. If his dad had wanted him to follow the rules, he should have been there to supervise him. 

Stiles took care of the wax seal with a sharp flick of his knife. Without hesitation, he uncorked the bottle and took a swig. It didn’t taste the way he expected it to, nor feel the way going down that he’d expected it to feel. It wasn’t unpleasant. Stiles took another gulp, noting that he was already starting to feel warm. He was more skeptical about how far into the bottle he would make it, but still determined to keep going until at least the rest of this lonely night might be burned from his memory.

Maybe if he was lucky he’d be able to forget all the lonely hours of the day, too. 

Stiles kept walking, searching for peace in the moonlit forest. 

Things would be back to normal tomorrow. He didn’t think about whether anyone would realize what they’d forgotten. It didn’t matter. He’d already seen just how important he was to them. 

Stiles paused. He was pretty sure he should have been at his clearing by then. The alcohol couldn’t have affected his sense of time that much, even though things were starting to seem remarkably more swimmy than they had moments ago. The thought of getting lost in the woods and wandering into a ditch or a dangerous animal, never to be found, filled him with grim amusement. Stiles could almost imagine the performative tears at his hypothetical funeral, lamenting his unfortunate demise.

His brain started cracking jokes about coming full circle were he to die on tonight of all nights. Stiles decided that sips would be better than mouthfuls for a bit. 

He definitely should have been at the clearing by now, but the alcohol was doing a good job of making sure he didn’t really care. Future Stiles could deal with figuring out how to get back home from wherever he ended up. He didn’t expect to stumble into a clearing that was utterly unfamiliar. However, there was a conveniently large tree stump in the middle of it. 

Stiles staggered over, and yes, it was large enough for him to spread out on. He set his backpack near the edge and turned off the flashlight on his phone, putting it in power saver mode and on do not disturb. Stiles flopped onto his back, looking up at the night sky.

Polish liquor was something else. The tree stump was humming. 

“Hi. Hello,” Stiles said, patting it gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The tree stump hummed louder.

“Yes, I am very lonely. This is making it a lot better though,” Stiles said, lifting his bottle to the sky. 

On a whim, he tilted it and allowed a few drops to fall onto the bark. It felt like the tree started vibrating. Stiles’s laughter rang out in the quiet woods. Maybe he should have wondered why even the crickets were silent.

Instead, he said, “Oh, you like that? I give freely to thee, my lonely, singing tree.”

He stretched to the very edge to pour some of the alcohol directly onto the stump’s roots. 

Not much, though. His babcia had sent it especially for Stiles, and he was pretty sure it was supposed to last years not be downed in one night but Stiles didn’t have to follow rules when he’d suffered such grievous betrayal. It did mean that he couldn’t just dump the whole bottle on the tree, no matter how much it seemed to like it.

He almost said yes, when the stump asked, but some small, screaming part of him made him pause. Tonight was tonight, but tomorrow was tomorrow, and things would have to go back to normal. Future Stiles had enough to deal with without having to figure out how to break a pinky promise to a tree stump. He drank some more alcohol as a reward to himself for his self-control.

“Sorry, I can’t stay. But I can come visit? If I can find you again.”

Stiles laughed again. The stump was so sure Stiles would always be able to find it forever and ever. He sat up and looked where it told him to. There was a haggard looking wolf standing at the edge of the clearing watching Stiles with blue steel eyes. It looked hungry and also like it could rip Stiles to pieces.

Stiles’s first reaction was, ‘ _Puppy!_ ’

His second reaction was, ‘ _Wild animal. Run._ ’

His third reaction was, “Issa very nice present, promise, but puppies are very responsible. Lots of responsibility.”

Still, Stiles set his bottle down, shifted onto his knees, and held out his arms to beckon the animal closer. He was shocked that it actually came. He could tell it had been horribly abused, and that was when it was mostly a mass of shadow with electric eyes instead of the hulking wolf it turned out to be. Then, Stiles could see that it was practically all bones underneath its matted fur. There were no wounds that Stiles could see, but the wolf gave the impression of being wounded nevertheless. 

Stiles wasn’t offended by its suspicious look. He simply held out a hand and waited. The tree hummed and the wolf leapt onto the stump with abundant caution. He seemed to take in Stiles’s scent at a distance before deigning to tilt his head toward Stiles’s hand. It seemed like an eternity passed before a cold wet nose pressed into Stiles’s palm.

The tree stump _sang_.

-

The forest smelled of magic.

The wolf should have felt territorial. This was his pack’s forest. His forest.

Except he didn’t have a pack anymore. And he hadn’t come back to defend this land from invaders. It had already been scorched to ashes by his enemies. 

It would only be a matter of time before their own defeat. Even now, they were training Artemis reborn, and her wrath would turn on them tenfold. The wolf knew he would not be able to see it. They would kill him before then. 

He wasn’t here to defend the forest. He simply wanted his end to be where he had been born, where he had been happiest. They would not take him alive this time. 

The wolf did not realize that the magic was calling, and that he was answering, until he stepped into the clearing. A fey creature was communing with the heart of the forest, limbs spread across the trunk as if he was happy to have found home.

He sat up, glowing with magic, and beckoned the wolf closer. 

The wolf went, before he could stop himself. Was he being ensorcelled? No. The tug was insistent, but not compelling. He could ignore it if he wanted to.

He stopped next to the heart of the forest, uncertain why such a being wanted to witness this meeting. Uncertain why the magic-maker seemed so unafraid. The wolf knew his eyes were blue.  
The magic-maker held out a hand. The forest’s heart welcomed him. The wolf leapt as carefully as he could.

He tried not to be overwhelmed. The magic-maker was overflowing. His flood was trickling into the parched heart of the forest. The magic-maker did not seem to realize what was happening, but the heart could not accept what was not freely given. 

There was something incredibly appealing underneath the scent of magic. The wolf leaned closer and closer to the magic-maker’s outstretched hand trying to determine what about his scent was so enticing. 

When his nose pressed into the magic-maker’s palm, the forest’s heart rejoiced. 

The wolf remembered that he had a name. That he wasn’t just a wolf, he was also a man. He remembered his grief. His pack, his family, just gone. Because he’d trusted the wrong person. Now he was back, again, in this awful place where Paige had died, in the middle of some kind of ritual with a drunk changeling who definitely did not know what was going on. 

Derek had no idea how the tree’s spirit had gotten permission to feed off of him.

“I said, ‘I give freely to thee, my lonely, singing tree,” the changeling said.

This was not Derek’s responsibility, and he did not have to stick around to see the outcome. He’d come home to die. That still seemed like a fine plan. 

“I’m not a changeling. I’m not even Robin. But I can try to be your Superman, if you want.”

Derek tilted his head, utterly baffled. His ears twitched, and he realized he was still a wolf. He wanted to be human.

He was sitting before the changeling, completely naked. He wanted to be a wolf.

Fur was definitely better in this situation.

The tree’s spirit laughed and asked if Derek wanted a new alpha. 

Derek didn’t bother questioning it. The tree’s spirit would not have offered if it could not be done. Nor would it have been offered were he unworthy. Though, he had to wonder by what measure worth was estimated, exactly, considering Derek had been the ruin of this land before. Derek was the reason there had not been an alpha in Beacon Hills since the former one was murdered in her own home. He’d led the hunters to their den and betrayed all of their defenses. 

Derek was the worst beta any alpha could ask for.

The changeling wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and hauled him into his lap. Derek’s paws scrabbled at the wood, but he still ended up sprawled across the changeling's legs.

“Stop being such a Sourwolf,” the changeling said. Then, “My name is Stiles.”

Changeling name, Derek thought smugly. Not to mention the mind reading.

“Oh, I’m not doing that, our friend is doing that, and they said I could help you. I want to if I can, but only if you want me to. I won’t, if you don’t. Do you want me to?”

Derek thought about the question. The full horror of what he’d been through in the past years would take time to sink in, and would probably plague him for a long time. Wouldn’t he want an alpha to help him through it?

Except that Derek was going to be killed. If he asked for help, it would only result in Stiles being killed with him. He wasn’t going to risk someone else’s life like that, especially when there were so few people who would genuinely offer such help.

“If kindness is so rare, shouldn’t you accept it when it’s offered?”

Derek had expected to be attacked, but not like this. 

“And would such a gift be bestowed upon us if we were destined for death?”

Derek squinted at Stiles. 

“Apparently, I have to be sober for this part,” Stiles said with a laugh. “Well, if you say yes.”

Derek’s eyes widened. Stiles could not be serious. He was a teenager. He must have just come into his magic, on his own. Had he been taught properly, he would know better than to “give freely” to a magical entity he stumbled over while drunk. Now, he also wanted to don the mantle of alpha, to a wretchedly inadequate beta on the run from a serial killer? How could he borrow such trouble? How could Derek accept such an offer?

“What do you have to lose?” Stiles asked with a smile.

His teeth glinted in the moonlight. Derek squinted at him again, revising his estimation of how dangerous Stiles was. Still, he would never throw anyone in front of Kate. It wasn’t about what Derek had to lose. It was about what Stiles had to lose. Namely, his life.

And maybe it was a little about what Derek would have to lose, if he accepted. Derek would rather not have to endure the loss of another alpha.

“You should have more confidence in your alpha, Sourwolf,” Stiles said.

Derek looked sharply at him. He hadn’t agreed to anything.

Stiles laughed again. “You can see my mind as easily as I can see yours, you know.”

Derek had not known. Once he was aware, the tree’s spirit surged forward. Derek was inundated with impressions that all swirled into one clear picture. 

Stiles… was more than Derek could have imagined. Additionally, he wasn’t entirely altruistic. Derek could easily accept that, considering all Stiles wanted was someone who would appreciate his care. Someone who would acknowledge the lengths Stiles would go to for them. 

Derek could be that person. He wanted to be that person for Stiles. He wanted Stiles’s protection with only his own adoration in exchange. It was incredibly selfish, but Derek was tired of trying to figure things out without help. It never ended well. 

Derek wasn’t sure trying to figure things out with Stiles wouldn’t still end in death, but he was pretty sure they had a better chance together than separately. 

“I pinky promise we won’t die,” Stiles said.

Derek rejected that promise. He’d seen into Stiles’s mind and knew what he would do to keep it. In this case, it was quite literally the thought that counted.

Derek wanted a new alpha. 

What he thought was inundation before was nothing compared to the deluge that swallowed him whole then. 

He did not know how much time passed before he started to become aware of himself once more.

There was a bond humming in his chest, rooted deep in his soul. There were gentle hands stroking his fur.

“Hey, Derek,” Derek’s alpha said. “It’s tomorrow.”


End file.
